


We Belong Way Down Below

by Mithrigil



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Between Seasons/Series, Complicated Relationships, Fight Sex, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Reverse Xeno, Rough Sex, Xeno, Yuleporn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-09 23:58:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8918629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mithrigil/pseuds/Mithrigil
Summary: Zeb runs into Kallus on a routine mission. He doesn't know how that resulted in both of them getting off, but he's not complaining.[Between Seasons 2 and 3.]





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [puella_nerdii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/puella_nerdii/gifts).



Frankly, Zeb’s not sure how he wound up fucking Kallus into the airlock wall. Something about a stash of medical spice en route to the Hyrit Sector and a tip from Fulcrum’s replacement that it wouldn’t be guarded, simple smash and grab, Zeb’s specialty, you know. But once he knocked a few bucketheads together there was Kallus at the back, up to the same old nerfshit, and okay they didn’t kill each other on that moon but his face was ripe for punching. Can’t blame Zeb for going ahead with it.

But that’s the thing: he meant to _punch_ Kallus, not grab him. It’s just that after a while Kallus stopped hitting back, and there weren’t any more bucketheads on the floor so they must’ve gotten out into the hall somehow, and then they fell through an airlock door and didn’t close it, and that’s where it gets fuzzy.

Or, well, not fuzzy, really. ‘Cause Kallus is smooth under his ImpSec uniform, just hairy in patches. Human, right. What hair he’s got on him is just enough to catch his sweat and spread it, and Zeb’s never smelled anything like it. Tinny, kind of. Powerful. _Karabast,_ he’s got Kallus half-naked against a bulkhead, what the blue fuck is going on?

“Garazeb,” Kallus calls him, and he somehow makes it sound sexy even though _no one_ calls Zeb like that unless he’s in trouble. Which he is, kind of. Definitely. “Hit the panel by the door. Lock us in.”

“No way. I’m not letting you space us both.”

“I didn’t plan on it.” Why Does Kallus have to sound as smooth as he feels? Zeb could run his hands and feet all over that skin and find nothing long enough to tear. “I thought you’d care for some privacy.”

Zeb growls, looks down at Kallus’s bare chest. Zeb’s gotten him good already on the ribs, a couple stripes on the throat. He bruises almost to the color of Zeb’s fur. That shouldn’t make Zeb’s dick spring up. “Fine,” he says, and slams a fist out to hammer the panel. The interior door hisses shut, and Kallus pants, his body heaving against Zeb’s armor.

Zeb was too young back on Lasan to get up to more than necking and idle barracks talk. No mate, no matched attraction, and no chance in Hell of that now, and more to the point thinking about it makes Zeb’s blood boil and hitting Kallus is a reliable way to get that anger out, so he does it. But only one punch and Kallus is too close to hit, holding Zeb by the shoulders so their fronts touch and groaning, and he smells too good to waste. When Zeb buries his nose in Kallus’s throat where he’s hairiest, that scent hits him full force.

“You have,” Kallus is saying while he rocks against Zeb’s crotch, “ten minutes, maybe, before we’re missed--”

Zeb huffs, “Not enough for you?” and rips off Kallus’s pants. Probably not how they’re supposed to come off, but the more money the Empire has to spend on replacing uniforms, the less it has for weapons. Hey, that’s not a bad idea either, so Zeb keeps ripping cloth and snapping armor bits until Kallus is shucked beneath him like a raw fruit. Yeah, smooth all over, tiny fine gold and brown hairs except his chest and thighs and cock, flushed pink and nearly as thick as Zeb’s. Big, for a human, Zeb’s been led to believe. Bigger than Kanan and the old clones. And uncut. And jutting out at just the right height for Zeb to grab.

Kallus curses. It’s one Zeb didn’t know until now. Kallus is searing hot in Zeb’s palm, and so’s the sound he’s making, tight little grunts as Zeb jerks him off and hammers his shoulders into the bulkhead. His skin makes such a nice meaty _slap_ on the cold metal, like the pulse hammering in Zeb’s throat and ears.

Zeb’s belt hits the floor and Kallus keeps pulling, hard, never mind that Zeb’s jacking him enough that only his flat toes touch the ground. But that’s Kallus, the kind of instinct that’d do a Lasat credit (nope, not thinking about that, now, not thinking at _all_ right now if Zeb can help it), and he drags Zeb’s pants off so quickly that they make his dick bounce. And then Kallus’s gold eyes go so wide that Zeb can’t help smirking. Yeah, it’s impressive, if he says so himself. Kallus may be thick for a human but Zeb’s long for a Lasat and from the looks of it Kallus’s mouth is watering.

But like fuck Zeb trusts Kallus enough to let the man put that mouth on his dick. “If you want that, I get to choose where you take it.”

Kallus nods, throat bobbing. “Eight minutes.”

“Not enough to stretch you,” Zeb says, thinking quick, “but plenty for this.” And then he hoists Kallus up so his back’s on the wall and his ass is in the air, wedged against Zeb’s gut. A little more wrangling--and a lot more choked-off gasps from Kallus, that’s gratifying--and he’s got Kallus half-twisted, legs and cheeks together, ankles crossed over Zeb’s right shoulder. Perfect placement, he thinks.

Okay, so maybe Zeb’s thought about the logistics a little. Not that he’ll ever admit it.

Kallus’s balls flop to the side, his cock still valiantly hard, and when Zeb lines up and thrusts between Kallus’s closed thighs their cocks slide together too, and yeah. Zeb still doesn’t know how he got here, but right now? He couldn’t care less. He’s got Kallus begging and clenching under him, off the floor and at Zeb’s mercy, and the sick Imperial _likes_ it. He’s flushed red all over except where he’s bruised, skin shiny with sweat, his facial hair matted and his lips unable to close, and no matter how hard Zeb thrusts it’s not doing Kallus any good but he _begs_.

And Garazeb’s too long a name for begging, so pretty soon Kallus is just grunting out a mess of syllables, and they sound better on him than anything else Zeb’s imagined. Kallus’s skull keeps cracking against the wall, though, and that’s a good sound too--so’s the slap of his skin on Zeb’s fur--so’s the beat of his blood in his fingertips, holding on desperately for a fuck he’s not even getting. Zeb could pity him if it weren’t so good already, if Kallus weren’t gripping Zeb’s cock between his thighs like a lifeline. A lifeline that humps him and rubs his asshole without fucking him proper and bangs him into the airlock wall over and over, sure, but a lifeline.

Maybe pity’s got no place here. The way Kallus is looking at him, with his eyes glazed over and all, isn’t pathetic at all.

Zeb doesn’t mean to come--okay, fine, he doesn’t mean to come _now_ , without warning a body, but he does mean to come--and the way he’s holding Kallus up, he shoots off right in his face. Streaks of it thread the hair on Kallus’s chest and cheeks, drips out of his open lips. He licks it up, just one little flick of his tongue on his bottom lip, and that image is gonna stick with Zeb a while.

“Karabast,” Zeb says, because. Well. He still doesn’t know how this happened, let alone what to say. So he lets Kallus back down to the floor, and he looks ridiculous with his tattered clothes hanging off him but his boots and gloves still intact and, oh. His dick’s still hard.

“Go if you need to,” he says. Curt, ragged, but like he means it.

Zeb could. But then his eyes follow the dripping come down Kallus’s body to his hard pink sweat-soaked dick and Zeb thinks, clearly and concretely, _fuck that._

He folds his hands over Kallus’s hips and shoves him back against the wall, then gets to his knees and leaches on. It’s gonna be quick, it’ll have to be, but fuck does Kallus taste good, even better than he smells, and it turns out _big for a human_ is just the right size for Zeb’s mouth and throat. He can take it all, but just barely, and so long as Kallus doesn’t snap his hips Zeb’s got this. So good thing he doesn’t try to fuck Zeb’s face--like he could, with Zeb holding him pinned to the wall by his hips--but he shudders, like his blood just sped up all over. Zeb’s maybe not so good about covering his fangs but Kallus doesn’t seem to care. He may be uncut but the head doesn’t swell up or anything, not even when Zeb starts growling around it and it turns out to be more than Kallus can take. 

He doesn’t warn Zeb before he comes either, so, that’s fair, Zeb guesses. He tastes salty, strange, and Zeb pulls off before he’s done and gets the rest in his paw just to watch it.

“Time,” Kallus pants. He looks flushed and vulnerable. Wrecked. Even from this angle.

It’s so different than the last time Zeb was on his knees in a place like this. Better. Much better.

“Right,” Zeb says, and gets going, barely remembering to buckle his pants on the way to the interior airlock door. His fist is still sticky, so he wipes it on the wall before he poises it to press the button. “Don’t tell anyone.”

“As if they’d believe me if I did.”

“Good.” That’s all Zeb needs to hear before he opens the door.


End file.
